


Oysters/Pasta

by Awesomepie3221



Series: Fictober 2019 [3]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fictober, Fictober2019, Fluff, M/M, restaurant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 11:29:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20965829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awesomepie3221/pseuds/Awesomepie3221
Summary: Aziraphale gets the wrong food while on a date with Crowley.





	Oysters/Pasta

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "I know you didn't ask for this."

"Listen, Aziraphale, I know you didn't ask for this, and it's not an awful thing to ask for the food you ordered, yeah? All you have to do is tell the waitress." Crowley is pointing at the plate in front of Aziraphale, in which the waitress just put down and Aziraphale is looking at like he is disappointed, because he _is_ disappointed.  
  
"No, Crowley, it's fine," he says, but he doesn't sound fine. "I've tried new and great food many times when the waitress has given me the wrong plate. It doesn't happen often."   
  
He's not picking up his fork though, it rests on a delicately white cloth napkin next to the plate. Normally Aziraphale is eager for his food and eating it before Crowley can even see it.   
  
"You don't look very eager."   
  
"It's just, I like to come to this place for the dish I ordered." He picks up the fork and puts on a smile. "I don't mean to complain."   
  
He stabs part of the noodles he was given, twirls them into the fork, then does nothing with it.  
  
Crowley sighs and rubs at his face. "Angel..." he mumbles, more to remind himself that he is dealing with an angel rather than to use it as a nickname.  
  
"Hm?" Aziraphale responds, and at least the fork has gotten closer to his mouth.  
  
"You can't stop me from telling the waitress next time she comes over."   
  
"I suppose I can't." He sounds hopeful, but to reinforce his assertion that Crowley doesn't _have_ to, he takes his first bite of the noodles.  
  
He pulls a face that is as gone as sudden as it was there and when Crowley gives a questioning look, he smiles, but it's terse.  
  
"Look, Aziraphale, it's bloody well okay to not like the food you _didn't order_. You can admit it."   
  
Aziraphale lets the fork drop and it clangs against the ceramic plate. He looks upset now, eyebrows turned up and mouth slightly open, enough to show the top row of his teeth. He's staring at the food.  
  
"It seems so rude to tell her!"   
  
Crowley can't help but let his heart swell at the look of him. He reaches across the table, having to practically climb onto his chair despite his height, and puts one hand on Aziraphale's, the other on his chin. He makes him meet his eyes.   
  
Aziraphale can't help but smile, as subtle as it is, and he pushes Crowley's sunglasses down his nose so he can look at his eyes. His smile gets wider. Crowley wants to kiss Aziraphale, and he happily remembers he can. He decides it best if he waits until they get to one of their places.  
  
"Can an angel do wrong?" Crowley questions, and Azirapahle has to break their eye contact so he can chuckle.   
  
"The sword did help save the world, didn't it?"   
  
Crowley twitches and falls back into his chair. He moves his hand up and down. "Eh, more or less. I think the kid did most of the work."   
  
"Yeah, well, humans are fickle things. You think they're destined for this, then they use their free will and decide they aren't destined for _this_, they're destined for _that_."   
  
"I had to fall for my free will," Crowley mumbles in response. His arms are crossed and he's leaning back in his chair, stretching his legs out to Aziraphale's side of the table.   
  
"I had to meet you, my dear."   
  
Crowley instantly softens. He can't stay rough around Aziraphale for long, it just doesn't work. He doesn't know how they ever fought before when Aziraphale refused to give him the holy water, then two-hundred years later refused to skip town with him. Crowley is a good actor though, maybe he was just that good at pretending to be mad. Or maybe he was so scared that he was actually mad.  
  
Whatever the case, it doesn't matter. None of it matters as long as Aziraphale is next to him.  
  
"Oh! The waitress is coming, Crowley," Aziraphale exclaims, pulling Crowley from his thoughts. He straightens himself out, pushing up on the chair so his back reaches its back.   
  
"Is everything alright?" she asks the moment she stops in front of them, and she puts on a pleasant smile.  
  
Crowley makes eye contact with Aziraphale, whose own eyes flicker to his plate then back to Crowley.   
  
So Aziraphale really does want the food he ordered. He's officially stopped trying to convince himself that he wants the noodles. No, he wants the oysters. Of course he wants the oysters. It's quite ridiculous to think he _doesn't_ want the oysters.  
  
"No," Crowley says, and apparantly he says it bluntly because Aziraphale winces. The waitress's smile falls and she puts on a concered face.  
  
"May I ask why, sir?" She sounds nervous. There is no way Aziraphale would have been able to do this.  
  
"My friend ordered the oysters, not the pasta, and he would like the oysters."  
  
She looks at Aziraphale's plate and Aziraphale gives her a weak smile, but she doesn't notice. She frantically grabs the plate after a moment of silence.  
  
"I am very sorry about that, sir, I must have gotten my tickets messed up. It's only my third day, you see. I'll have it fixed immediately," she rushes out.  
  
"Oh! It's quite alright. No harm done."   
  
She gives him a lopsided smile with relief, then rushes off.  
  
"See, Angel, was that hard?"   
  
"Not when you help. I suppose I'll have to keep you around," Aziraphale teases.  
  
"Pish-posh, Aziraphale, you couldn't get rid of me if you tried." He waves his hand dismissively and stretches back out like he was before the waitress came.   
  
"I guess it'll be easier to not try, then, hm?"  
  
Crowley sputters over a response, then has to take a deep breath before he tries again. "Bloody hell, Aziraphale, when did you get so good at flirting?" he says, and it's so awkward that he momentarily forgets he's the demon of the two.   
  
Aziraphale smiles, the brightest of them all.   


**Author's Note:**

> I'm just an American struggling to write Brits


End file.
